Shoot your shot, Fletch, I tell myself.
“I’m not tired.” I stifle an actual yawn as I say it. “So if you want to stay up, we could talk. Or watch a movie, or something?—”
“Yeah, I’d like that,” she says. “I’m not tired either.”
I feel the smile more than I show it. “Okay. Knock on the door when you’re done?”
“Okay.”
I have never showered faster in my life.
I don’t know if the same can be said for Poppy or not, but even though it’s only been twenty-five minutes since we got into our rooms, it feels hours longer.
Great.
I’m not just used to being with Poppy; I’m hooked on her.
This is too fast. My feelings have skyrocketed beyond anything I’ve ever felt for another woman. She makes me want to be a little kinder, a little calmer, a little more forgiving.
Better.
She makes me want to be better.
That’s not a bad thing—so why does it scare me?
Because you don’t know if you do the same for her, a voice in my head tells me.You’re worried you drag her down, like you do everyone.
Yup.
There it is.
Maybe I made a mistake, pushing her to talk longer.
To make matters worse, my phone has so many missed texts and calls, I’m almost afraid to touch it for fear it will detonate with the combined anger and resentment of my family.
I can’t blame Evan—TBIs mess with impulse control and emotional regulation. He’s doing the best he can, and honestly, I like him a hundred times more now than I did before his accident. Back then, he acted like he was immortal, impenetrable, and incomparable. He had such incredible raw talent, he didn’t have to work as hard as I did to get where he got. He wasn’t coasting into the majors, but he wasn’t hustling in, either.
I resented the crap out of him.
When he went number one in the draft—compared to my number twelve, a pick I worked my butt off to earn—he acted like he deserved it more than anyone. Like the world owed it to him.
Man, that hurt. It felt so wrong, so … unjust for someone who put the minimum into his game to be rewarded like that.
And even though Evan had never bowed to my granddad and dad, because he’d never cowered or run drills or complied with every stupid requirement, they cheered for him in a way they never had for me. I was already playing AAA ball with a goodchance of being sent up to the majors any minute, but it was like they’d written me off.
I had peaked in their minds. The mantle had been transferred to Evan, and he was the one who’d redeem the Fletcher legacy.
Finally, someone would make our family proud.
You know the worst part though? The part I’ve never told anyone?
I was relieved, too. So relieved, I was almost ready to quit baseball altogether. I hadn’t loved the game in … ever, maybe. Certainly not since I was a little kid. Baseball was an expectation—a duty I had given my all to.
I was so ready to finally shrug it off, figure out what I wanted with the rest of my life.
Then the very next night, Evan goes to that stupid bar, spouts off, and picks a fight with Darren Murphy.
And I was sucked back in. MLB or bust, except now I had the burden of resentmentandguilt. Now I knew that not only was I a failure to my family, I was never going to get to quit.
